


Lessons in the Old Tongue

by lightningrani



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dissociation, Gen, Identity Issues, only based off the first four books, so speculation away!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 11:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3975946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningrani/pseuds/lightningrani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mat never liked speaking in the Old Tongue. So when he loses the ability to speak any other language, he isn't happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons in the Old Tongue

He was running from the shadowy mist, and there was no way to escape.

The malevolent blackness crept towards him, and with his back against a wall. He groped for his dagger, but it was gone.

Why the hell was he running around without a weapon? He swore he had a bow or something on the back, but no, he was powerless. 

“Why had my luck run out?” he muttered under his breath.

With nothing to do, with no way to fight back, he let the darkness engulf him. It whispered to him before tendrils of it wrapped around his throat.

_The price is paid._

**

Mat would get out of here alive. He was luck personified, after all.

That’s what he told himself as he rode his bloody horse behind bloody Rand al’Thor, following him to the ends of the world.

Ta’veren. Mat shook his head. What kind of luck would make him and his two best friends ta’veren? And Rand, simple old Rand, the Dragon Reborn? Now look at their lives. Perrin had yellow eyes, Rand was a bloody ruler, and Mat, well…

It was better not to think about how he changed. He was still the same person, deep inside. He fingered the foxhead amulet, thumb circling its eye.

(Mat, after all, was a good liar)

Now, if only he could do something about his proficiency with the Old Tongue…

Egwene edged her horse up next to him. Mat frowned. She had spent most of her time with the Wise Ones, talking about woman things. There was no reason she needed to talk to him.

“Mat,” she began. “What happened in Rhuidean?”

“None of your bloody business,” Mat growled, urging Pip, his horse, ahead. Egwene was an Aes Sedai. She couldn’t be trusted anymore.

“Mat!” Egwene yelled, but Mat ignored her. _Women._ Never knew when to mind their own business. If she wanted to know what happened, she should have entered the city herself. Mat snorted. She wouldn’t have lasted five minutes there.  Casually he started to flip a gold coin as Pip sauntered onwards, catching it every time. His luck was with him, as always.

“She asked about Rhuidean, didn’t she?” someone said behind him.

Mat swore, throwing the coin behind him by accident. Rand pulled up next to him, holding the coin, which landed on its edge.

“If she did, it isn’t your business.” Rand had to focus on the Aiel and other important things. Mat wasn’t one of them. “And, Light help me, stop messing with my bloody coins!” he said, grabbing the coin out of Rand’s hand.

Rand frowned. “What did you just say?”

“Bloody ashes, are you deaf? Stay away from my luck!”

Rand’s eyes widened. “Light. You’re speaking in the Old Tongue.”

Mat sputtered and almost fell off Pip.

**

Moiraine opened her eyes and frowned. “There seems to be nothing wrong with him. Amys nodded in agreement. “And it started today?”

Egwene nodded. “He responded to me in the Old Tongue as well.”

“You do realize I’m sitting right here?” Mat muttered.

Moiraine glanced at him. “It would be useful if we had a scholar of the Old Tongue to interpret. Though I doubt he’s saying anything of use right now.”

She didn’t even look at him when he let out a stream of swears, though Mat thought Rand glanced at him appreciatively.

“Even if we can’t understand his speech, he could communicate by writing? The only issue then would be reading what he wrote, which would be difficult, considering how sloppy he is,” Egwene said. Mat glared at her.

Moiraine nodded slowly. “It is an option, though I doubt it will work.”

“Why not?”

Moiraine handed Mat parchment and a quill. “Write.”

Mat snorted and started to write the dirtiest thing which he could think of on the spot. After finishing the ditty, he stopped to admire his work—and realized it was in the same curvy script as the words on his staff.

“You expected this,” Rand said bluntly to Moiraine.

“If he was speaking the Old Tongue without realizing it, then why would he not write in it as well?” Moiraine frowned and looked at the paper closely. “Though his penmanship needs some work.”

“Bloody women,” Mat muttered his breath.

“Your plans do not change, Rand al’Thor? You will still head to Cold Rocks Harbor?” Amys asked, feigning a casual tone.

Rand nodded slowly. “It is the path I must take. But we should hurry. The last time something unexpected happened to Mat, his health deteriorated quickly.”

“I don’t need to be coddled,” Mat mumbled—though it was true. The damn dagger and its sickness. It was its fault that he ended up in this position in the first place.

Bloody ta’veren.

**

Mat soon got tired of not being understood. In the beginning, it was freeing to be able to say whatever he wanted without worrying about retribution. After all, if people could not understand him, they couldn’t tell him to stop.

It soon became clear, however, that if no one understood what he was saying, they stopped caring about his opinion. Everything was being decided by those bloody women once again, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. And he wasn’t allowed to gamble, either. They sucked the fun out of everything, those Aes Sedai and Wise Ones.

“Rand,” Mat began, catching Rand’s attention. “You’re the bloody Dragon. You can stop Moiraine and her schemes. I’m not going to be in her hands again!”

Rand shook his head slowly. “The only thing I got out of that a swear word and Moiraine’s name.”

Huh. Mat pushed up Rand’s sleeve, ignoring his yelp, and pointed at his new tattoo. “Bloody Dragon,” he repeated. “Stop Moiraine.” Rand had figured out a few words, but there was little Mat could communicate with swear words and luck.

Rand absorbed the new information. Mat wished he could figure out what he was saying instead of Dragon. He knew he had to be speaking the Old Tongue, but he never heard the language itself. Just like the two times he used the twisted doorways.

“There’s no way to stop Moiraine, Mat. The Aes Sedai are forces of nature.”

Mat swore under his breath again.

“And even if this did not happen, I must stop at Cold Rocks Harbor. There is no other choice.”

Oh, Mat knew that. It didn’t mean he had to like it.

Muttering swear words under his breath, he nudged Pip forward. This was more than he wanted to deal with right now. All he wanted was some ale, shaking a tumbler full of dice in his free hand, and a pretty woman to look at. Oh, and also to be somewhere far away from the Waste and Rand al’Thor the bloody ta’veren.

Mat could make out a small waystation in the distance. He squinted. It looked deserted. Strange. Something tickled at the back of his mind, but he ignored it for now. Who knew what was proper here in the Waste. As far as he knew, way stations were empty all the time.

When he thought he saw something glittering out of the corner of his eye, things suddenly snapped into place. “Ambush! It’s an ambush!” he yelled. No one understood him, of course. They were just confused.

And then the fighting started, and there was no time to ask questions.

Later, when the dust settled and the injured were being taken care of, Rand asked what Mat had said. He gave him a wan smile and started to babble, like he used to. When no one understood what you were saying in the first place, well, it was a good distraction tactic.

**

His dreams were filled with wars and battles, blood running through the fields. And he was always in the middle of them, commanding his people in the Old Tongue, rallying against the enemy in one last attempt to turn the tide.

When he woke up to the sounds of fighting, he thought he was still in this dream.

Mat swore and grabbed his sword—staff?—and headed into the fight against the enemy, yelling the cry of his people. Strange people fought alongside him, but he would take all the help he could get. His staff sliced the air as he stabbed the attacking Trollocs. Strange that his comrades never joined the fight, but no matter. Blood ran down the point of his blade, glinting like a ruby in the weak firelight.

An eternity later, bodies circled him. He was victorious, protecting Manetheren from the dangers of its enemy. And yet, the place where he stood was not Manetheren. It was too hot, too dry to be his homeland. He growled. Whoever thought they could mess with him was wrong.

Someone yelled at him in a strange language—fiiting, considering he was in an unknown place.  “You will never defeat me, you scoundrels!” Mat roared back, defiantly. “Do not even try to approach me, if you want to stay a man!”  

“Mat!” a familiar voice from nearby.

Mat? Who was—

Reality came crashing back down. His spear fell to the ground, rolling in the blood seeping into the ground. Light, what was happening to him?

Rand ran up to him, concern evident in his face. It had been some time since Rand had looked him like that. “Light, what happened here?”

Mat smiled and tried to look reassuring. “Oh, nothing you need to worry about.”

Was this what it was like when he held the dagger? Was this how it was like to lose yourself?

Maybe those hole in his memories were a good thing.

**

He could feel Moiraine’s eyes watching him as he rode Pip. Mat wasn’t going to let her get anywhere near him.

Rand was pushing the group to reach Cold Rocks Harbor as fast as possible. Mat mumbled under his breath that he didn’t need to be coddled, but being off the road would be nice. There would be at least somewhere to hide from the blasted heat.

The battle had been a one-time event. Oh, there had been times where he had almost lost himself to past memories, more than he would like to admit. More than he would ever admit.

And if he avoided watching people fight or looking at weapons for too long, well, he was a gambler at heart. His only weapon was his fingers and his smile.

And the spear hanging off his back, but that was only for self-defense.

And if his dreams were only getting more bloody by the night, and if he was waking up confused about his identity more, well, he ignored that too.

It had been too long since he had spoken words which others easily understood. Mat wished he could actually talk to someone again. Light, he would even be willing to talk to Moiraine if he had to. In the palm of one of his hands, he clenched a gold coin. It helped ground him, when the memories were too strong. Luck may have been an obsession with those in the past, but none of them loved gold like he did. In the other hand, he held the foxhead amulet, as a reminder of why Mat was here in the first place.

He let out a bitter laugh. The price had been paid, indeed.

Rand rode silently next to him, just waiting for Mat to do something. It had been like that for a few days. Unlike with Moiraine, Mat didn’t mind Rand watching. They are—were, at least—friends.

“We’ll be in Cold Rocks Harbor in less than a day,” Rand said suddenly, breaking the silence. Mat nodded in response. “Moiraine says they have a Wise One who specializes in healing, there.”

 “I don’t need to be checked up by those women,” he muttered under his breath.

Even if Rand didn’t know exactly what Mat said, he could figure out the general idea. “If this is like the dagger—”

“If, if, if! It’s not like the dagger. I haven’t stolen anything lately! Oh, sure, it could be the staff, or this amulet, but who knows?” Mat interrupted, gesturing at the staff and amulet as he spoke.

Rand frowned. “Mat, give me those.”

He wouldn’t. They were his. He paid the price. Rand had no need to touch them.

Mat tossed Rand a coin instead.

Rand frowned. “This is how you were with the dagger, too.”

Mat scowled. He could barely remember that time period, but he knew Rand wouldn’t lie about that. But it still wasn’t Rand’s right.

He was going to tell Rand where to stick his hand, only to be interrupted by a shout. They both turned and looked ahead.

It was bandits, and lots of them.

Rand urged his horse ahead, getting into the thick of the battle, sword of fire in his free hand. Mat held back. It wasn’t safe to go into battle, not if he wanted to stay himself. Not unless he wanted a repeat of last time.

His plan worked, for a time. He sneered at those that gave him a disgusted look as he waited behind them, watching the battle with the others who could not fight. And then the bandits ambushed them from the back, and everything went black.

**

Mat was back in the city where he got the dagger, and he was running for his life, all by himself.

The mist was following them, almost sentient as it slowly ate the Trollocs and anyone else who was too slow to get out of his way. Mat was barely fast enough to keep ahead of it. If he could find a way out, then he would make it out alive,

Light, if only his luck had been good back then as it was now.

He frowned, slowing down for a brief second, before the sounds of screams reminded him what waited behind him. No time to think. There was only time to react. He ran through the labyrinthine city, weaving through the streets as he headed towards the exit. Only to be stopped by a wall.

Mat stopped in his tracks, turning around. The mist was right behind him, leaving him no way of escape.

He was going to die, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Groping for his dagger, he found nothing, except for a foxhead amulet.

Mat frowned. Why did this look so familiar?

And on his back was a staff, inlayed with ravens and engraved with a cursive script. Twirling the staff in his hand, as a last-ditch effort to fight back, he traced the words with his fingers.

_Thought is the arrow of time; memory never fades._

And, Light, did he remember. What happened here, what happened in his journey, what happened in the past, all that information flooded into his brain. For a second, a brief second, Mat could see his place in the Pattern, the way his thread weaved through time and space, and he could see how the changes would help him survive.

(It didn’t mean he would take this path willingly or without a fight. Mat wasn’t a pawn to anyone, not even the Pattern)

Yelling the war cry of his people—because even if Manetheren had fallen in the years long gone, it was still part of his blood—he stabbed the mist with his staff, and it parted for him, letting his escape.

**

Mat groaned, head pounding, as he woke up. Moiraine and Egwene were at his side, watching him.

“How are you, Mat?” Egwene asked cautiously.

“As well as a man can be after losing his mind,” he muttered under his breath.

Moiraine’s mouth twitched. “And it seems like your problem is solved as well.”

“What are you—Light, you can understand me?” Mat yelped, scrambling backwards. At least he didn’t say anything bad this time around.

“Whatever was causing your speech problems is solved now. Something must have changed.” Moiraine raised an eyebrow, waiting for Mat to respond.

Mat shrugged. “Something must have changed with Rand, with him being ta’veren, changing the Pattern to his whim. Maybe I’ll be needed to marry a princess.”

Egwene gave him a glare, but Mat just gave her a bigger smile. They would never know of his dreams or his suspicions unless he had to tell them.

Moiraine nodded slowly. “That is a possibility.” Standing up gracefully, she nodded to Egwene. “Let us converse with the Wise Ones for a bit.”

Mat watched as they left, and slowly got up, checking his belongings. Nothing was out of place, not even the pendant. He frowned, running his fingers over the eyes again. The dream may have helped him understand something, but not everything was clear. 

Shrugging, he placed the pendant in his pocket and grabbed his dice, rolling them in his hand before leaving the room. If people could understand him, then he was allowed to gamble again. A grin began to spread on his face. It was time to use his luck for some fun.

“It’s time to roll the dice,” he said purposefully in the Old Tongue, and whistled as he walked away.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a weird fluffy piece about Mat being forced to speak the Old Tongue, and then plot happened? Which I made up? Please don't ask me how this happened.


End file.
